


you better kiss the boy (right now)

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Post Apocawasn't, colorful use of metaphors, crowley is going through a lot ok?, mild depictions of depression and anxiety, really a lot of metaphors to their relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley always had hope that, one day, him and Aziraphale would be together. But now, some time has passed since the world didn't end, and even though Hell and Heaven didn't pose a threat anymore, nothing had changed in Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship. To Crowley, it was the ultimate proof that Aziraphale didn't correspond his feelings, so he decides to give up on hope entirely, and now is up to Aziraphale to stop being a dumbass and face his feelings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Kiss the Boy", by Keiynan Lonsdale.

Before we start, there are a couple things you should know. The first one is that hope and imagination, while not absolutely dependant of each other, are often intertwined. That is, you can have one without the other but they work so much better together (as is the case of most things – and some human shaped beings). The other is that Crowley is arguably the being with the second best imaginative skills in the whole Creation (it is important to count Her in, since we never know when She might be listening).

If we give those two facts a closer look, we can assume, with varying levels of accuracy, that people that are more imaginative are also more prone to being hopeful, and that She might have just given Crowley the possibility to be the most hopeful of Her children, as if She knew he would need it.

But the thing about hope is that, sadly, it oftentimes doesn’t last forever. And even the best of us at it can lose it sometimes.

For about six thousand years or so, everything in Crowley’s life was imagination based. The cables of his electronic devices have never been plugged, and his house doesn’t have a single power socket in it, since he thought of them as useless things standing in the way of his aesthetics (tall walls painted black, extra points if there’s nothing on them). The Bentley ran solely because Crowley thought it should, because no drop of gas has ever touched the car. And don’t get me started on his plants, you get the point.

Things around Crowley just work because he thinks they should, and in case they don’t, he’ll just think _harder_ until they obey, and they always do.

Well, not always. There has been one single issue that Crowley hasn’t been able to resolve by imagination, and that is his relationship with Aziraphale. If he was able to imagine a point outside time and consequentially be a part in the saving of the world, he should be able to imagine into being a situation where him and Aziraphale finally gave in after six thousand years of longing and yearning, right?

But no matter how much he imagined it (in variant levels of both sobriety and clothing), that never became real. He imagined kissing Aziraphale so much; he could almost taste the angel’s favorite dessert in his mouth when he closed his eyes. He imagined reaching out and holding his angel’s hands so much he forgot to breathe sometimes. And he imagined them both together, under the covers, without any layers of clothing between them that _something else_ ached if he wasn’t careful with were his thoughts wandered to. And yet, no amount of imagining resulted in real life changes.

Crowley could imagine as much as he wanted, but Aziraphale always kept a respectful distance between them. The demon wouldn’t make any attempts to change that, because he still was trying to slow down to a place where the angel would be comfortable with their relationship.

Still, unrelated to all that happened (or didn’t happen) Crowley was always hopeful. He nurtured all those little moments where Aziraphale’s actions could mean he liked Crowley too. There was a fair share of those moments, for the happiness of one snake-eyed demon (a wing extended to protect from the rain, an invitation to eat together for the first time, followed by centuries of lunches and diners together, a bag of books saved from the remainings of a bombed church, and other little moments). As long as Crowley focused on those, he could imagine good things would come, he could hope for Aziraphale to love him back, he could believe things could get better.

Except that, since the world tried to end itself and failed, Crowley had been having trouble with hope. Yes, they thwarted the plans of both Above and Below, and managed to be left alone for a bonus, which had many amazing theoretical consequences, but few, if any, practical ones. Nothing had changed between angel and demon, even though their respective head-offices didn’t pose a threat anymore.

If nothing happened now that there were no reasons for them to hold back, Crowley could only think it was because Aziraphale didn’t see him that way. And after losing Aziraphale in the bookshop fire and getting him back (bless Adam for that), Crowley couldn’t bear the thought of losing his angel again, this time because of him, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, because he _had to_ have feelings and fuck it all up.

He could live like this, if this was all Aziraphale would ever want. If it meant having Aziraphale in his life, Crowley would do anything.

But in this moment, having hope hurt.

So Crowley stopped having hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We still have a lot of sad to get through, so buckle up everybody.  
> This was a small-ish introduction, I plan to make the next chapters longer.  
> Let me know if you like it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm really sorry for the time this update took, but I had a rough couple of weeks, and even though I have everything planned out, I couldn't really write it until now. Also, small change in the title, because it was so long it was bugging me
> 
> But you know who's having a rough time now? My poor baby angel, so let's get to the actual chapter

The countless people devoted to researching and writing angel lore have, over the years, reached some interesting and half right conclusions, but dozens of other not so right ones. One of those is that angels don’t dance. Of course, most angels don’t, but just because they have never tried to learn (and also because Sandalphon would be a terrible dance partner, and Heaven tries it’s best to avoid that), but Aziraphale, who, as you will see, is also the exception to many other “facts” on angel lore, does dance.

Yes, he was lucky enough to learn the Gavotte for the short period while it was a fashion and had a jolly good time at it then (but please don’t bring it up, he’s still annoyed that the Gavotte fashion ended and he can’t get a dance partner anywhere these days). But that’s not the dance I’m referring to, as Aziraphale also took part in another form of dance, one he has been performing for roughly six thousand years, even if he wasn’t always aware of his participation on it.

Case in point is that his relationship with the demon Crowley had always been a well choreographed dance. Crowley was the one to do something to test the waters, to hint at them being something else, something more, but it was the angel who was the lead in this dance, he was the one responsible for knowing when to allow the demon’s advances, and when to hold back and say no.

Considering that he had been doing this for the most of his creation, he had grown to be very good at it. He was very good at being careful, after all you never know when people are watching and listening, and any misstep could be easily reported to his superiors. Or worse, to Crowley’s superiors. So he grew used to knowing when to invite for dinner at some fancy restaurant, and when to deny a ride on the Bentley; when to let Crowley stay just a little longer, just a little closer to him, and when to let something “slip” about them just being friends (or not liking Crowley, or them being enemies, you name it).

And as Aziraphale sat by a lamp in his (now closed) bookshop, with a book on his hands that maybe had some poetry in it, but he picked it so long ago he couldn’t remember, he thought about his relationship with Crowley, and how, even now that the world hadn’t ended, he couldn’t get rid of his old habits.

He had long known his relationship with the red headed demon could easily turn into something else. He had asked Crowley out for oysters, for Someone’s sake! (Of course he knew the effect oysters are believed to have. He is a well read angel.) He couldn’t quite point at the exact moment where he realized he could fall for Crowley if he wasn’t careful enough, but Aziraphale had always been careful.

Except that he had, in fact, fallen. He realized it, weirdly enough, in a church, now bombed to pieces, while being handed a bag of miracle-saved books. Aziraphale, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate, had fallen, and it had not scared him a bit.

In the moments that passed his realization, though, he realized he was scared. Not of having fallen, nor of his superiors discovering (what was the worse they could do? Make him fall again?). He was scared for Crowley. More importantly, for if Crowley’s superiors ever found out, since they weren’t ones used to rude letters and rough words. If Hell ever found out, would they torture Crowley? Would they kill him off once and for all? Aziraphale had no idea of the lines Hell was willing to cross to punish the demon’s disobedience.

So Aziraphale got better at dancing.

Yes, not being able to do all the things he wished he could with Crowley (don’t let your mind wander around, it only makes it worse) hurt him. Angel corporations did not, usually, feel pain, but Aziraphale could swear that, since acknowledging that he and Crowley could never be together, his heart constantly ached. But it was worth it, in his eyes, because just the thought of the alternative, of their love being the thing that kills Crowley in the end, of having to live a life were golden snake eyes and red fiery hair don’t exist anymore, brought tears to the angels eyes. If he were to be honest, he didn’t think he could live in a world like that.

And it all made sense, until Armageddon came and ran away, leaving their world unharmed. Until Aziraphale-in-Crowley’s-skin had required a rubber duck to go with his Holy Bath, and Crowley-in-Aziraphale’s-skin allowed a demonic smile to form while he refused to become Hell Barbecue. Allegedly, they were on their own side now. Allegedly, neither Heaven nor Hell wanted anything to do with them. Allegedly, they made their own rules now.

For Aziraphale, though, is was as if the other shoe had not yet dropped. They would go out and have lunch, or stay in and drink fancy, overpriced wine, and Aziraphale would look over his shoulder, expecting, waiting for when Gabriel would jump off from behind a bush with a camera on his hands and say “Aha!” He would say “too bad losers, you really did believe you’d be left alone? Joke’s on you! Now everyone can see what you’ve done together, now you’ll suffer, and rightfully so, I have the evidence, you’re fucked”.

I guess it’s fair to say Aziraphale had trouble dealing with the times of peace that came after the war.

But that’s not the exact reason why the angel currently sat so still and for so long that he would need to shake the dust off his shoulders when he got up, or why he gave the poetry book in his hands a blank stare (take note, because this is most likely the only time that has ever happened). Aziraphale was lost in thought and ignored his book because, recently, Crowley had been weird, and not in his usual way, until the point where Aziraphale had tried to phone him twice (once asking if they could go have lunch together, and then, when no answer came, he made himself wait a couple of days to ask again, this time to go out for brunch) with no signal from the demon until now.

Aziraphale, who took pride on himself for the control he had over his own feelings, was having a really hard time not freaking out. Yes, Crowley hadn’t asked for help, but did that matter? Could he really believe the demon would be given a chance to call if he were in danger? Especially if Hell had gone after him?

The angel finally moved (the last time he had done that was more than 24 hours ago) and flipped through some pages, trying to get something to distract him, to take that horrible thought from his head.

Instead, he thought of Crowley’s unusual behavior the past few weeks. The demon had not once called over, as he used to do, proposing some activity for the both of them to spend an afternoon on, but yet he always took on Aziraphale’s calls, and never denied his angel anything. But his behavior was a bit off. Crowley talked less, drank less wine, smiled less. He started ordering actual food at the restaurants, and took the excuse to look more at his plate than at Aziraphale.

Of course Aziraphale knew Crowley was slowly dodging away. But why? The angel couldn’t find a fitting answer, and dealt pretty badly with it. Crowley was always the one to drink one too many, to say something with varying (romantic) undertones, to vow for their friendship, and now that he wasn’t doing that anymore, Aziraphale was thrown off balance. Aziraphale, who had been gathering the courage to say “yes” to Crowley for the first time, now didn’t have a question to answer anymore.

He felt as if he had been waltzing with Crowley for a long time, but then Crowley suddenly changed the music to one of those new bebop things and left Aziraphale waltzing alone, trying to figure out what to do now.

He really needed to figure out what to do now.

As an afterthought, it occurred to him, that if Crowley had known that Hell was coming for him, it would be of his nature to try to distance Aziraphale from the mess. And that, the angel thought, simply wouldn’t do.

He gathered himself, shook the dust off his shoulders, put the book on its place on the shelf (no reason to start making a mess of the books now) and walked right off the bookshop with a plan.

And in the middle of the night, nobody noticed as the Principality walked his way from Soho to Mayfair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my work, please consider leaving some kudos/comments!   
> Until next time, which hopefully won't take this long anymore


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